Sunday, February 24

self-referentially incomplete busted-love-poem

signal-to-noise
and the scale of the problem
lines on the page,
letters and the shapes
of faces

there's a poem in this
if i could find the words
the way i could never
find the tune

you always knew
just where to look
more than i could
ever easily do

i'll admit to failure
but defeat is harder
i've lost as many battles
as i've ever fought
but the war it seems to me
is eternal

and anyway i've lost track
of whether we were enemies
or comrades in arms

either i suppose is better
than the indifference which
hovers nearby
and claims us soon enough.